Monday, March 30, 2015

tea time

I had an early morning appointment today.
What was I thinking to book an 8 am dentist appointment?
I suppose I figured that since I start work at 7 am on days I work, that 8 wouldn't ripple the pond of life.
I was wrong.

I actually don't mind going to the dentist.
It feels so good to have freshly cleaned teeth.
And it feels pretty good to lay back in that big, soft chair with my feet pointing to the ceiling and my thoughts freed to roam at will for a blissful hour.
At least that's how I usually feel.
How I expected to feel.
I was wrong.

My hygienist is a calm, particular, methodical woman. These are delightful qualities in a dental hygienist. She shares her workspace with another equally dependable woman. Sadly, a car accident has resulted in this co-worker being replaced by a revolving door of temporary help. Routines have changed. Supplies have not been reordered. Things have been moved and things are missing and things are stressful.
I suppose that isn't so surprising.
What was surprising though was how I absorbed that stress like a thirsty sponge.
I felt a buzz the whole time I was there.
My husband would high five me because that is his usual response to a trip to the dentist.

A long hour later, I staggered out into the cool morning air where I revived just enough to mislead myself into thinking a trek to Target was called for.
Target is closing and a few crumbs of sale items remain. I had a particular mission in mind. I figured I'd just pop in and out and then hasten home for tea.
I was wrong.
It was early enough that most of the mall was still closed, so everyone in Langley with a yen to shop was crowded into Target.
Rock stars wish they had as many people lining up to buy tickets as Target had lining up to buy the strangest assortment of things.
And I was one of them.

Time seemed to pick up speed after that.
Isn't time a funny thing? It can creep along, come to a grinding halt, race just never know what it will do.

I realized as I was writing this that I never did get my cup of tea.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

great gray sea


A constant sound of trickling water
as though a giant tap has been left on.
And little rivers
course down the driveway
towards the great
sea of sidewalk.

Monday, March 23, 2015

salt and pepper

Our neighbors have two new dogs. Do dogs come in pairs like mittens?
Those little dogs and I were complete strangers until this morning.
That's when dog number one noticed me for the first time.
He rushed across the grassy stretch between us, his brow furrowed in dislike.
He seemed to have plenty of mean things to say.
When I told him he was a handsome boy, there was an abrupt and magical transformation.
His screeched to a stop.
His tail wavered.
His frown vanished.
His eyes lit up.
Then his owner summoned him.
"Mork," she carolled.
"Mork," and then turning to the other little dog, "Mindy, come"
Mork and Mindy?
I once knew a cat and dog that were named Frodo and Gandalf.
And a pair of cats named after the Sedin twins.
Know any great pet name pairings?

Friday, March 20, 2015

rain on sunshine

Frances Hodgson Burnett- The Secret Garden

"Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?"...
"It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine...”

Emily on spring

Emily Dickinson-(1830-86)

DEAR March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat—
You must have walked—
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the bird’s;
The maples never knew
That you were coming,—I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me—
And all those hills
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

very friendly

A little handful of puppets, no pun intended. I whacked them out of felt and sewed them up willy nilly without much thought to measurement. It seemed an irony that the pig was almost too tight on my hand. Shouldn't the pig have been the most spacious?A nice plump pig? They all seem to have different voices just as you would hope. The hen is a marvelous mother and the cow is very friendly.


I've wished my mind was like a giant blackboard and that I could erase whatever memory I wanted.
Would the air be full of chalk dust?

Maybe the scribble and scrawl I want to rub away is like shadow in a picture. It causes the light to stand out.

Sunday, March 8, 2015


I love books.
I mean I really love the books themselves.
The books.
Not just the stories.
When I was a kid, I remember loving the way books smelled.
That wonderful sweet scent of book glue.
Loved the way they felt in my hand and the deckle edges of the pages.
Loved the pictures.
I'm still a sucker for illustrations.
They can make or break it for me.
Sometimes books are republished with different jacket art.
That can't be the right thing to do.
I get attached to the drawings. New ones seem like interlopers.

I think bending the corner on a page of a book is heartless.
It makes me wince.
It might seem unthinkable then that I have completely cut up a vintage children's book.
But I have.
I did feel a small twinge but I ignored it and snipped away.
The book was from 1960. The illustrations were wonderful.
It's just that someone else thought so too.
Someone who owned the book before me.
They had recklessly snipped here and there and the story was in tatters.
The bits I could still read seemed pretty preachy but stories were like that once upon a time.

I salvaged the remaining pictures to make cards for my Auntie.
She sends us weekly notes in hand crafted cards.
Cards she has cleverly crafted from this and that.
Upcycled artistry.

Hope she likes the kitties coming her way.

can be

Remember to Keep Calm:
This is only a game.
The players should all have fun,
the coaches are volunteers,
the referees are Human,
respect is not an option.
This is only a game.

I've been smiling ever since I read this. It is from a local soccer league. One of those statements imbedded in the signature of an email and I LOVE it.
I love it because this morning I woke in a beige state of mind.
Kind of colorless.
Nearly a funk.
Almost a frazzle.
Then I read that reminder.

I need to keep calm.
Today can be like a game.
I should have fun.
We're all the same.
Volunteers and referees.
All human.
Respect is the thing.
For me just the same as you.
For you just the same as me.
Today can be like a game.

Sunday, March 1, 2015


I only cried when I thought of the squirrel.
Unfortunately, I thought of it all the way home.
Poor little squirrel.
Run down on the road in the prime of its life.
And by me.
A squirrel lover.
It was all too tragic.

And last summer someone tread upon the cricket my grandson had been playing with.
The cricket he loved.
It was one of us.
We just aren't sure who.
Also tragic.
He took it better than I did.
And once, long ago, my husband made the mistake of stepping on an ant.
On purpose.
It was my grandsons favourite ant.
If this all seems overly sentimental you are likely right.

We have weeds that sprout up tauntingly in the gravel walk way. I have been known to pour boiling water on them, a sort of medieval war on weeds. When I suggested this as a possible, legitimate technique, I was scolded by a woman who asked me in a shocked and trembling voice, how I felt about the worms and bugs I was annihilating so barbarically.
Now THAT is overly sentimental.

gone viral

I've gone viral apparently.
At least that's the doctors view on things.

My doctors office is in Fort Langley.
Such an interesting drive from Aldergrove.
Straight towards the distant mountains.
The road begins to  wind and then there's a slight downwards tilt to the world, sort of a warning of things to come. Sure enough, a corner, another corner and there you are, perched at the top of a steep winding hill, the sort that would have made you clench your teeth in fright as a kid on a rusty two wheeler, the sort that is a tobogganers dream.
Down your car hurtles and you enter another land all marshy and bird filled. Rows of ruby branched blueberries march off into the distance. Heron sweep over head. The Fraser River beckons.

Fort Langley is a pretty charming little town.
I used to wish I lived there.
My doctors office is right beside a grave yard.
Isn't that funny?!
Kill or cure.

When I jumped out of my car this week I found myself gazing into the front seat of a car as is often the case in a crowded parking lot.
"Oh my word!" I gasped.
More like..."OH MY WORDDDDD!"
A large daytimer was thrown open upon the front seat.
I have never seen a busier schedule.
Things were scribbled in every possible space.
And every possible space in the car held something too.
I averted my gaze in sympathy.
Later when I returned to the parking lot, and edged between the cars to unlock my own I found myself, apparently unable to refrain from adding, "Wow," as a parting commentary.
Upon reflection, it wasn't the clutter that moved me.
Not at all.
That is just a temporary condition.
Well, maybe not temporary but easily remedied.
Well, maybe not easily but clutter is neither here nor there.
Well, its sometimes here and definitely there....
Oh my goodness, what am I trying to say....
I think it was the daytimer.
The clear attempt some poor soul was making to reign in their busy life.
To create order out of chaos.
That's it for sure.
There was a sense of danger and desperation about that front seat.
I hope it wasn't one of the doctors cars.